ight: we could not see
the _finale_, though we saw her rendered helpless.

[Illustration: Passing the Vicksburg Batteries.]

"Since that day the regular siege has continued. We are utterly cut
off from the world, surrounded by a circle of fire. Would it be wise,
like the scorpion, to sting ourselves to death? The fiery shower of
shells goes on day and night. H----'s occupation, of course, is gone,
his office closed. Every man has to carry a pass in his pocket. People
do nothing but eat what they can get, sleep when they can, and dodge
the shells. There are three intervals when the shelling
stops,--either for the guns to cool, or for the gunners' meals, I
suppose,--about eight in the morning, the same in the evening, and at
noon. In that time we have to both prepare and eat ours. Clothing
cannot be washed, or any thing else done. On the 19th and 22d, when
the assaults were made on the lines, I watched the soldiers cooking on
the green opposite. The half-spent balls, coming all the way from
those lines, were flying so thick that they were obliged to dodge at
every turn. At all the caves I could see from my high perch, people
were sitting, eating their poor suppers at the cave doors, ready to
plunge in again. As the first shell again flew, they dived; and not a
human being was visible. The sharp crackle of the musketry-firing was
a strong contrast to the scream of the bombs. I think all the dogs and
cats must be killed or starved: we don't see any more pitiful animals
prowling around.... The cellar is so damp and musty, the bedding has
to be carried out and laid in the sun every day, with the forecast
that it may be demolished at any moment. The confinement is dreadful.
To sit and listen as if waiting for death in a horrible manner, would
drive me insane. I don't know what others do, but we read when I am
not scribbling in this. H---- borrowed somewhere a lot of Dickens's
novels, and we re-read them by the dim light in the cellar. When the
shelling abates, H---- goes to walk about a little, or get the 'Daily
Citizen,' which is still issuing a tiny sheet at twenty-five and fifty
cents a copy. It is, of course, but a rehash of speculations which
amuses a half-hour. To-day he heard, while out, that expert swimmers
are crossing the Mississippi on logs at night, to bring and carry news
to Johnston. I am so tired of corn-bread, which I never liked, that I
eat it with tears in my eyes. We are lucky to get a quart of milk
daily